The new owner bid on the phone. They are listed as an “unspecified buyer.”

It’s probably not a painter.
How many of them have that kind of dough?

I’m sorry. But what
difference does their being a painter make?

They could have bought it to study it.

One can do that in
a museum.

Not anymore. They’d
have to go to the guy’s house. DING
DONG. “Hi, can I come in for a few
minutes and study your painting?” How
often would you get a “Yes” on that
one? You’re more likely to hear, “Security!”

That would be the
owner’s prerogative.

I was joking.

I’m sorry. Your
intention eluded me.

What did they buy it for, I wonder?

People generally buy paintings to exhibit them in their
homes.

Rich people, in this case. Regular people would have to sell their homes to buy it, and they’d
still come up a hundred and nineteen million and change short.

Do you have something against the super wealthy?

Probably. But setting
personal prejudice aside, what would it be like having a hundred and twenty
million dollar painting hanging in your house?

Very satisfying, I would imagine.

But not entirely normal.
It’s not a nice painting of a bowl of fruit. You own one of the most famous and, currently,
the most expensive painting in the world.
What do you do with it? I mean, you’re not going to stash it in the
basement with the half-filled cans of paint and stacks of unread New Yorkers.

But you don’t want to totally throw it in people’s faces
either. You have to be subtle about
it. You hang it right by the front door,
the dinner guests arrive, and it’s like, “We know!”

On the other hand, you don’t want it hanging in the Master
Powder Room that no one is allowed into.
That’s like, “What, we’re not good enough to look at it?”

Me? I didn’t price it at a hundred and
twenty million. Y’know, most days, I
imagine, the painting just hangs there.
Some days, maybe weeks at a time, I bet the owner forgets to look at it. I mean, I’ve got an ocean out my window, and
I barely notice it at all.

The person who’s probably involved with it most is the cleaning lady. “Dust very carefully. Any scratches, and it’s coming out of your
salary.”

Which reminds me, my brother once defaced our only oil
painting by supplementing it with a watercolor bunny. So you really have to talk to the kids.

And then, there’s the immense value of the thing. I mean, I’m sure it’s insured, but if it’s
lost, they don’t replace your “Scream” painting with another “Scream” painting.
You only get cash. Which to the
person who shelled out the hundred and twenty mil would appear to mean very little. You
want to hold on to the painting.

Which can be revelatory as to priorities. Say, there’s a fire in the middle of the night. You pop out of bed, and immediately rescue
the painting. The wife goes, “What about
me?”
Uh-oh, Rich Guy. You are pretty
much busted.

I am sure that would never happen.

Have it your way. You
carry her out of the inferno, and race back for the painting. You emerge, clutching the masterpiece in your
arms, she goes, “We have children,
you know.” Busted again!

I would imagine the owner would have the character to do the
right thing.

The “right thing”?
The “right thing” would be to buy the “Scream” painting, donate it to a
gallery with maybe a “From the collection of” designation under it. That way, everyone, even people without a hundred and twenty million
dollars, can enjoy it whenever they want to.
Why not do that, instead of hoarding it in your house for the exclusive pleasure
of a handful of selfish people who…uh-oh, did I just make a speech?